


Have Faith In Me

by annalikestotalk



Category: Star Trek
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, but nothing too graphic, its fluffy really i swear, some description of injury and mention of blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:21:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23221660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annalikestotalk/pseuds/annalikestotalk
Summary: Jim is fine.Jim is falling.Jim is fine.He showers – Jim is falling, Jim is falling – and dries off quickly, donning his meditation robe. He lights some incense. Jim is bleeding, surely blood shouldn’t be this red? He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes.Jim is falling and bleeding and Spock is screaming, wants to scream, can’t scream, can’t tear his eyes from the unnatural scarlet spilling from his captain, his Jim, Jim is bleeding and Spock is useless and Jim –Jim is dying.
Relationships: James T. Kirk/Spock
Comments: 2
Kudos: 167





	Have Faith In Me

“What is your plan, Captain?” Jim grimaces.

“You’re not going to like it.”

“I rarely do.” Jim snorts a laugh and then suddenly he’s there, grabbing Spock’s hand in his and meeting his eyes fiercely. Spock is so taken aback by the sensation of Jim’s skin on his that he doesn’t register what he’s saying until too late.

“I’ll draw them out. Be right back.”

Later, Spock will tell himself that the passage of time continued at the same speed that it always has. In the moment, however, he watches in slow motion horror as Jim vaults over the rock they’re hiding behind and runs across the open space between them and their attackers. From behind a ledge, two figures raise their heads and take aim, and even as Spock and the ensign accompanying them shoot he knows it is too late. A wordless cry escapes him as a bolt of energy catches Jim in the side, and his body hits the ground at the same time as the body of the being that just shot him.

-

The time between Jim being shot and beaming back onto the ship is hazy. Spock has a vague memory of comming the ship, of barking orders first at the officer at the end of the comm and then at the panicked ensign on the planet with him. He remembers pressing against the wound and Jim wheezing and foreign blood the colour of the darkest Vulcan sunset. He remembers the strange fizzing sensation of the teleporter, of holding Jim in his arms until he is removed by a medical team waiting for them, watching as they are replaced on the transporter pad by a security team beaming down to apprehend their attackers. If anyone asks him how much time has passed, he will not be able to answer. If anyone asks him what planet they were on or why they were there, he does not think he could answer those either.

Jim is hurt. This is all the information he has. Jim is hurt and now he is safe and doctor McCoy will heal him because that is what doctor McCoy does and there is no other option for how this series of events will end. Jim will be healed and he will smile that infuriating smirk and say confounding things just to see how Spock will react and he will makes plans that Spock does not like and Spock will never have to consider a world in which James Tiberius Kirk has died.

Spock is sure that there is protocol for situations like this, sure that there are duties that he is responsible for, but every time he blinks he sees Jim falling and his hands are still covered in a sickening red and he knows that he will not be able to see Jim until he is stabilised, so his next best option is to shower and meditate and not allow the crew to see the way he is shaking.

His quarters are halfway across the ship, but in a blink – _Jim falls_ – he is standing just inside hid door and staring at the disconcerting familiarity of his room. Everything is exactly as he left it this morning and that feels wrong somehow, as though the world tilted sideways and everything should have moved with it. He presses the opening to the bathroom – _red on his hands, Jim is falling_ – and when he looks in the mirror his reflection doesn’t look right either. Again nothing has changed, but it feels as though everything should have. He feels as though his fear and grief should be written across his face, plain as day. But that’s not right because there’s no reason to grieve. Jim is fine – _Jim is falling and there is nothing he can do, Jim’s blood is on his hands_ – and Spock will no doubt see his up and around far sooner that doctor McCoy would like.

Jim is fine.

_Jim is falling._

Jim is fine.

He showers – _Jim is falling, Jim is falling_ – and dries off quickly, donning his meditation robe. He lights some incense. _Jim is bleeding, surely blood shouldn’t be this red?_ He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes.

_Jim is falling and bleeding and Spock is screaming, wants to scream, can’t scream, can’t tear his eyes from the unnatural scarlet spilling from his captain, his Jim, Jim is bleeding and Spock is useless and Jim –_

_Jim is dying._

-

Spock is roused from his fruitless attempts at meditation by a chime at his door. For what he believes to be the first time in his adult life he is forced to check his chronometer to see how much time has passed. It has been some hours – too many and not nearly enough. Spock feels a faint nausea roiling in his stomach, and resolves to check in on Jim. The door chimes again, and Spock forces himself to rise to meet it.

Spock’s mouth is open to greet his visitor, but when the opening door reveals Jim’s smiling, sheepish face, he finds that words desert him. He simply stands there, breath shallow, mouth still open, staring at his captain until he begins to fidget.

“Uh, hey, Spock. You mind if I come in? It’s just standing is kind of not great at the moment.”

Automatically Spock steps back and gestures him in, belatedly noticing that Jim is in the uniform patient scrubs provided by medbay. His throat closes, and he busies himself at the replicator. Jim settles himself on the generic sofa in Spock’s small living room, and smiles when Spock hands him a mug of warm tea. Spock sits next to him, hands held tightly beside him, and waits for him to speak.

“So that was exciting, huh?” He huffs a laugh and winces when the small movement jars his side. Spock’s hands raise towards him without his brain’s permission, but he regains control before they make contact. Jim’s gaze drops down to them before returning to Spock’s and he sighs. “I’m okay, you know. I mean don’t get me wrong, I don’t exactly want to repeat the experience, but I am okay.”

“You were shot.” Spock is mortified to hear his voice break. “I have never seen you bleed like that.”

“Oh Spock.” It’s hardly even a breath, and Spock averts his gaze. “I’m fine, I swear. Bones patched me up fine. Look,” he adds, pulling up his shirt, “properly bandaged and everything.”

Spock’s eyes are drawn to the large patch of white gauze covering his captain’s skin, and then his hand is covering it. He doesn’t remember deciding to do it, doesn’t even remember moving his arm. His hand is not touching Jim and then it is, and the white of the bandage visible between his fingers is almost as comforting as it is nauseating.

“Spock?” Distantly, Spock is aware that touching his captain like this is probably inappropriate, but he can’t seem to make himself stop. He stares at his hand, resting lightly on Jim’s abdomen.

“This is where your heart would be,” he murmurs.

“I don’t think I understand.”

“If you were Vulcan. This is where your heart would be.” He watches Jim’s face bloom into shock as he realises what Spock is trying to say. “Humans continue to confound me, and none more than you, Captain. But I have never been more grateful for the differences between us as I am now.”

“God, Spock, I didn’t even – look at me, alright?” Spock is incapable of disobeying, but Jim places a hand on his cheek anyway, keeping Spock’s face angled towards his own. “I’m alive. I’m safe. The blast didn’t hit anything vital and I am not going to die, alright? I am fine.”

“All of you is vital. Every piece. You are vital to me Jim.” And then because he cannot help it, he places his hand over Jim’s, draws it away from his face and tangles their fingers together. “I cannot lose you.”

“You won’t.” Jim squeezes his hand fiercely. “You won’t lose me, Spock. There is nothing in this entire universe that could take me from you.”

Kissing Jim is less of a decision than an eventuality. Spock does not think he decided to kiss Jim, but their lips are pressed together in an undeniably human way, and but for a surprised noise, Jim does not protest. If anything, he seems just as desperate as Spock is to remind himself that they are both here, and alive, and together. It’s a back and forth, a plea and a reassurance, ‘don’t leave me’ and ‘I’m here’ and ‘it’s okay now, I promise.’

Jim tries to angle his body towards him and pulls away with a sharp hiss, pressing his hand to Spock’s where he still has not removed it from Jim’s side.

“Are you well?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” Jim sucks in a deep breath and smiles. “No strenuous activity, I’m afraid. Doctor’s orders.”

Spock guides their foreheads together and just breathes, feeling something in him settle as Jim’s hand settles protectively over the back of his neck.

“It’ll be okay, you know?” Jim murmurs, and Spock feels Jim’s breath across his face, feels the warmth of his hand at Spock’s neck, sees the strength of his pulse in his throat. Jim is here, and there is nothing in existence that Spock will allow to take him from him.

“Yes, Jim. It will.”

**Author's Note:**

> its midnight and i have to be up for work at half six but this demanded to be written


End file.
